Part 16 (2/2)
”You're serious about this?”
”I've never been more serious about anything in my life.”
She stared at him. The life he described sounded so good to her, but what would it be like for him? He was so wild, so pa.s.sionate about everything. How happy could he be living as a fisherman, waiting for the chance to sail again? She wanted him to discard his criminal ways, but she didn't want to kill his spirit.
”What's going on there?” He nodded toward a gathering of women, men, and horses.
”It's just a race. Exciting to watch. I always wanted to enter, but my horses aren't fast enough.”
”Even Sea Storm?”
She laughed. ”He'd probably win.”
Lock stood and squinted at the horses lined up facing the field outside of the village. ”No doubt he would win, but not with me riding. I'm too big.”
”You couldn't ride him, anyway, Lock. It's for women only.”
”What are all those men doing there?”
”They're slaves. They belong to the women entering the race. The winner gets to bed the one of her choice. She also collects prizes donated by the vendors.”
Lock noticed the ensemble of men, most tall, young, and muscular, all wearing arm bands like his.
”Enter,” Lock said.
”What?”
”You said you always wanted to race. Get Sea Storm and enter.”
”That would mean I have to put you up as a prize along with the others. Never.”
”Even if you lose-which you won't-it's nothing I haven't done before.”
”It's a risk I'm not willing to take.”
The idea of any other woman sleeping with Lock made Sparrow burn with rage.
Together, they joined the crowd waiting for the race to begin. Sparrow stared at the women mounted on tall, sleek horses, and her heart pounded. She'd always loved riding, and when she'd lived in the palace, had owned many fine, fast horses. Though she often rode Sea Storm at the farm, the thought of racing across the field and jumping fences while the rest of the village watched made her tingle. It had been so long...
”We have one more entry!” Shea-Ann shouted, and Sparrow's eyes widened as the nanny strode up to the contestants, Lock behind her leading Sea Storm.
The blacksmith laughed and patted the neck of her big-boned black stallion. ”You plan on riding, old woman? I thought you were a healer.”
”That doesn't mean I'm a bad rider!” Shea-Ann approached Sea-Storm and attempted to mount the towering stallion.
Sparrow cursed softly. Was Shea-Ann losing her mind? The woman could just about ride her gentle, chubby mare.
”Shea-Ann, what are you doing?” Sparrow demanded, shoving her way through the crowd.
”You wouldn't ride,” Lock said. ”Shea-Ann was more than willing to put me up as a prize.”
Sparrow glared at her old nanny who shrugged. ”Would you prefer to ride?”
”I'm not entering.”
A voice shouted, ”Ready...Set...Off!”
”You see, it's too late...” Sparrow's sentence was cut off by her shriek of surprise as Lock tossed her onto Sea-Storm's back and slapped the stallion's rump hard.
Lock watched as the white stallion bolted, galloping after the flanks of the other horses.
”Are you mad!” Shea-Ann whacked Lock on the arm. ”You could have gotten her killed!”
Lock smiled. ”Sparrow will love it! Look at them. They've almost caught the others.”
Shea-Ann's face was tense with fury. ”I almost hope she loses and you have to bed someone like the blacksmith!”
Lock's smile faded as he squinted at the muscular blacksmith and her stallion several lengths ahead of the others. If she did win, Lock hoped she'd been insulted enough by his comments weeks ago to never pick him. Knowing the big, blond b.i.t.c.h, she'd choose him for spite.
Win, Sparrow, he thought to himself. Don't mess this up, d.a.m.n it!
Lock clenched his fists, his heart throbbing madly as Sea Storm and Sparrow leapt ahead of the others, the white's nose at the black's hindquarters.
The blacksmith began beating her horse with a switch, and the animal leapt. Sparrow never touched Sea Storm but her body moved with his in an attempt to make the run as easy as possible for him. She was small and light in spite of her muscular build, much less burden than the thickly built blacksmith. Lock had trained Sea Storm well without breaking his spirit, and the stallion's compet.i.tive nature surged with his speeding legs. Again he inched up on the black. Nose to nose they sailed over a fence in the center of the field.
Lock was aware of the crowd shouting and cheering around him, but his main focus was on the race. That night, he'd either be returning home with the Sparrow or s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the d.a.m.n blacksmith. He'd have to close his eyes and think of Sparrow to even attempt entering that beast-woman's body. He thought of how she smelled like horses and five-month old sweat. She was too much like the gnarled pirates who pawed him as a boy.
The black and white stallions were still neck-to-neck as they reached the homestretch. The others were several lengths behind them with no hope of catching the leaders. Suddenly Sea-Storm bounded ahead of the slowing black. Lock saw Sparrow smiling even as the wind and horse's mane lashed her face.
Shea-Ann screamed her approval along with the rest of the crowd as Sparrow rode to victory.
She slowed Sea-Storm and hugged the stallion's sweaty neck. ”Good boy!”
The blacksmith sat astride her blowing mount, glaring in Lock's direction. He winked at her, but refrained from approaching Sparrow and Sea Storm. He remained in line with the other slaves.
A slim, redheaded woman approached Sparrow and said, ”Congratulations. That's a fine, fast horse you have. You've won the first prize, two new blankets from the seamstress's shop, a pair of boots from the cobbler, two sacks of apples, and the slave of your choice for tonight.”
Smiling, Sparrow glanced at Lock and dismounted while Shea-Ann held Sea Storm. She looked so beautiful, her cheeks flushed from the ride, her face sprinkled with perspiration and streaked with dirt. He stood straighter, towering over the other slaves, as he waited for her to claim him.
Sparrow walked past him, and his brow furrowed as he stared after her. She started at the far end of the line, glancing over the slaves, pausing in front of some. She took particular interest in a man nearly as tall as Lock, smooth shaven, with short black hair.
I knew it! He thought, his pulse throbbing. She doesn't like the beard after all!
Sparrow moved to the next man, then the next. She paused in front of a yellow-haired slave, extremely muscular, but far too short by Lock's standards. Still, he had another smooth face.
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